


Not to Turn Around

by sweetestdrain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestdrain/pseuds/sweetestdrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo knows better, she really does, but it's been a long few months on her own and she's not too picky for company these days.  (Jo/OFC, circa late season two.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not to Turn Around

Jo knows better, she really does, but it's been a long few months on her own and she's not too picky for company these days. Despite Jo's self-sworn heterosexuality and fine appreciation for the male form, when the cute red-headed girl she's just saved from a nasty spirit is so grateful that she invites Jo in for coffee, Jo says yes.

The girl's name is Charlotte, called Charlie, and they share an amused look over both of them having boy's nicknames. Jo's always been more comfortable with her nickname than her full name, thinking it's only actresses and college girls that need all those extra syllables, but Charlie confesses over the course of obligatory small talk that she's always preferred Charlotte.

"And 'Charlie,' I don't know, it's just - sort of masculine, I guess." Charlie follows her comment with nervous laughter and a measuring glance at Jo from under her eyelashes.

"I wouldn't say you were masculine," says Jo, and she guesses it's the right thing to say, because Charlie blushes red and mumbles a little bit. Charlie really isn't masculine, despite her short-cropped hair, even though there's something about her that reminds Jo a little of Sam Winchester. Some of that same self-effacing humor, maybe, or something in the way Charlie carries herself; smooth, like she's used to eating up space with her strides whenever she walks someplace.

Coffee is slightly awkward at first; for one thing, Jo wasn't quite sure if "do you want some coffee?" was just code for "let's have lesbian sex," and when she found herself holding a chipped red mug full of something piping hot and vaguely coffee-colored, she wondered for a moment if she'd read Charlie's signals all wrong. Their mutual attempt at conversation could have meant anything. But after watching Charlie fumble with her own mug for a few minutes, sending Jo surreptitious looks over the rim, Jo decides she got it right after all.

Jo's horny and kind of nervous, and when Jo gets nervous, it's best for her to just tackle whatever's making her nervous head on. She sets down the mug of shitty coffee and reaches over, stilling Charlie's nervous, fidgety fingers with her own grip. Charlie makes a noise, soft and expectant, and something in Jo gives a little thrill at the sound.

And yeah, there's something about Charlie that gets Jo's blood pumping; the way she straddles one of the kitchen chairs so comfortably, or maybe the way Charlie smiles sharply whenever Jo tries her hand at a bad joke and then blushes the very next second, like the embarrassment is an afterthought. It makes Jo want to press her down against the counter, maybe ruffle up that short, sunset-colored hair.

Yeah, Jo thinks. Maybe she's not so hetero these days, after all.

The next moment, though, her whole handle on the situation gets dumped a little sideways. Jo thought she was being daring with her hands on Charlie's, but then shy Charlotte lets out this deep laugh and just surges up from the chair and into Jo's arms, pushing her hard against the refrigerator. A smiley face magnet leaves a dull imprint on Jo's back, its shocked little face reflecting her own feelings pretty well.

Jo's startled noise is swallowed up in Charlie's mouth, slick and teasing. Charlie is a couple inches taller than Jo and a few pounds heavier, but she's stronger than she looks, too, pinning Jo a little too easily. Jo's pretty okay with that right now, though, especially with Charlie's thigh slipping between her legs and grinding up, knee banging dully against the front of the fridge with every thrust.

Jo squirms down onto Charlie's thigh a little more solidly, the rough denim seam of her jeans pressing right _there_, and she bites down hard on Charlie's lower lip. Charlie actually _snarls_, tearing her mouth away and latching onto Jo's neck instead, teeth pressed firmly against the soft flesh beneath Jo's jaw. Jo is suddenly so turned on she can't move quite right, and her motions against Charlie's hip start to stutter.

"Such a pretty little thing," Charlie growls into her ear. "You want more?"

Well. Jo is now officially out of her depth. She also doesn't really care, as long as Charlie keeps doing _that_. Maybe being a lesbian isn't so bad, once in a while.

"Yeah," Jo says, and it comes out as a gasp. "Yeah, yeah, gimme -"

"Shut up," Charlie hisses, and Jo doesn't take it personal because the next moment, Charlie undoes the button of Jo's jeans and slowly rolls the zipper down. Jo can hear herself whining softly in the back of her throat, and rather than try to return the favor just now, she settles her hands on Charlie's shoulders and prepares to hold on for the ride.

"Yeah," Jo says. "Yeah, like that, oh, _fuck --_"

Jo hadn't realized she was so wet until she felt Charlie's slim fingers dig through the slick folds between her legs and slide smoothly into her hole. Jo bucks, driving Charlie's fingers a little further in, until they're pressed hard against the walls of her cunt.

Charlie laughs at Jo and adds another finger, stretching her a bit more and causing a pleasant burn to race its way up Jo's spine. It's been a while; a long damn time, actually, since Jo last got laid, and Charlie certainly knows her way around pussy.

Charlie draws back a little, just enough to get her other hand up Jo's shirt, not even bothering with undoing buttons this time. She chuckles to find Jo without a bra - Jo hasn't had time to do laundry in a while, okay - and she runs her thumb over Jo's nipple until Jo is panting and writhing against her. With her other hand still busy mapping out Jo's cunt, Charlie twists Jo's nipple until she wrings it hard and aching, until Jo is groaning at the mixed pain and pleasure of it.

"How'd you get so - unh - good at this?" Jo says. And yeah, her mama always told her about gift horses and not looking at them too close, but this time, she's really goddamn curious. Charlie seemed like such a good girl - total dyke, of course, but _sweet_ \-- and Jo wasn't expecting this crazy wildcat to come winding out of her. It's a pleasant surprise, for sure, but Jo likes to consider herself a fairly good judge of people, and the impressions she's getting from this girl are all over the place.

But Charlie says nothing this time, just hums a little sing-song tune under her breath and smiles as she drives those three fingers against someplace inside Jo that makes her feel full and fit to burst. She twists them and keeps driving them in, over and over, still cupping Jo's breast in her other hand, but it's not until Charlie leans in and bites Jo hard on the jaw that Jo comes, sharp and quick as the pop of a cheap snap bracelet.

"Jesus _fuck_," Jo breathes, still feeling her orgasm uncoiling through her. It takes her a moment to realize that Charlie bit her hard enough to draw blood. "_Jesus_," says Jo, almost laughing, "What are you, a vampi -"

Charlie grabs Jo by the neck, hand slipping slightly on the blood running down from the bitemark, and slams Jo's head hard against the freezer door. A couple more magnets spring off and hit the floor hard.

Jo lets out a pained grunt, stars burning inside her eyelids. She doesn't think, just _reacts_, twisting to break the grip Charlie has on her, but she can't budge a muscle.

Oh, shit no, thinks Jo, and she realizes she's been a motherfucking goddamn whore of a - she calls herself a _hunter_ and she didn't even notice -

Charlie blinks down at her, her eyes dark and pitch black all the way to the edges. "Hey, baby," she says breezily. "Did you miss me?"

"Fuck," Jo chokes out. "Get the fuck off me."

Charlie tsks and shakes her head. "Now, I don't think that's any way to talk to your old buddy." She pauses, extracting her hand from Jo's jeans, and brings her fingers up to take a delicate lick of Jo's taste.

"Mmm," Charlie - or whoever the fuck this demon is - purrs, "Just like chicken."

Jo tries to kick, but Charlie pins her harder against the refrigerator with inhuman strength. And oh, Jo is such an idiot, such a dumbass, fucking _oblivious_ \--

"You remember me, don't you," drawls Charlie. She lets up on Jo's throat just enough for Jo to breathe, but keeps her pinned there with just one hand. "A few months ago, in Duluth? You squirmed then, too. Shame, I didn't know all it took was another cunt to get you to spread so pretty for me."

"You were - _Sam_," Jo mutters, suddenly realizing. "You were the demon that possessed him."

"Gave you quite a nasty bruise, too, if I recall," says Charlie. She pokes at Jo's forehead, right above her eye. "Just about here, am I right?"

"Let me go, you fucking bitch," Jo gasps. She's starting to realize just how fucked she is; she left most of her weapons in the car, and she doesn't have any exorcism rituals memorized yet. She'd have her neck snapped before she got two words out, anyway.

Jo closes her eyes for a moment, shutting out that cruel black stare. She's an idiot. She let herself get led into the oldest trap in the book, and she has no possible way to get out of it.

Charlie laughs at her. "Stupid little girl," she says, sounding way too satisfied. "You think _any_ of this is about you?"

She pauses, smoothes the hair back from Jo's face, peering at Jo closely. "Yeah," she says. "You'll do nicely, won't you?"

Charlie's other hand slips down from Jo's forehead to just over her heart, pressing hard into her ribcage. She feels it like a brand, but the intense burn of Charlie's touch abruptly lessens to a sting. A moment later, Charlie hisses and yanks her hand back. A thin stream of black smoke is left coiling in the air.

It's an opportunity; seizing Charlie's moment of distraction, Jo jerks away. She throws herself sideways toward where her backpack is still sitting on the kitchenette floor, and manages to pull out her gun, twist onto her back, and fire five shots right into Charlie's chest.

Charlie falls forward, smearing blood everywhere, and Jo knows she only has seconds before Charlie recovers. Bullets won't keep a demon down, just piss them off a bit. Jo scrabbles to her feet, sliding a bit on the slick plastic tile, and tears off out the door.

She only pauses for a split second, when she's five feet from her car, in order to pull up her jeans, starting to sag around her hips. After that, she doesn't pause at all until she's a hundred miles away and night has fully fallen.

It's then, though, that Jo's adrenaline rush and pounding, almost overwhelming fear - goddamnit, she hates being held down, _hates_ it, so fucking helpless - gives way to another thought, unwanted and until now, unremembered.

_Sometimes demons take hold of people,_ her father says to her. Jo is probably about nine years old, listening raptly. _And the person's still alive, still seeing everything, but they can't control themselves._

Jo has to pull off the side of the road and crumple over the steering wheel a moment, forcing back the bile and tears that threaten to come pouring out of her. She just put five bullets in a girl. Five bullets, and now that girl is dead, demon or no.

Jo opens the car door and hangs onto it, gagging and spitting her guts out on the pavement.

Finally, Jo levers herself back into the driver's seat, ignoring the ache between her thighs. When she pulls on her seatbelt, it rubs the wrong way against something on her chest, and she's unbuttoning her shirt to see before she really even knows what to expect.

There's a new scar right over Jo's heart, a couple of faint, disconnected lines that have been burned into her skin by Charlie's touch. There's something odd about them, though, and finally Jo realizes the thing: they don't look _finished_. It looks like a nasty symbol, whatever it means, but there's not enough lines there to connect it all together.

Jo remembers Charlie's burning touch, and how she had suddenly yanked her hand back, like she had been shocked by something.

The charm is still hanging from a chain around Jo's neck, and she wonders if Charlie even noticed it was there. Jo fingers the charm, its lumpy metal edges, and thinks about the last time she saw Dean Winchester.

_I'm glad you're okay,_ he'd said, shuffling awkwardly. _So is Sam._

_He allergic to telling me that himself?_ Jo had asked, but she really wasn't too sure if she was keen on seeing Sam, either.

Dean laughed and shrugged. _Yeah, whatever. I don't know. You crazy kids._ He paused, then took Jo's hand, pressed something into it. _Look - things are getting crazy around here, and I think you'd better have this._

Jo peered at the tiny charm, trying to ignore how good Dean smelled up close. The charm didn't look like much, and she couldn't really tell what symbol was printed on it. _What's this do?_ she asked.

Dean's smile looked fake and strained. _It protects against possession,_ he'd said, like it was obvious, like he really thought she might need it.

Now, the surface of the charm is black and almost iridescent, like someone took a match to its surface. It reminds her of the sterilized needles her mom used to keep around the bar for when hunters came in all scratched up. Jo wonders if the charm will still work, or if its protection has been used just to keep that one demon from getting in.

Jo tips her head back against the seat, tries to just breathe for a moment. She'd always wanted to be a hunter - and she _is_ one now, no regrets - but this? The Winchesters and whatever hell they were going out and striking up? She'd never asked for a _war_.

Jo wastes a few moments cursing Dean and Sam Winchester and whatever hellspawn they've got after them, then she takes a shuddering breath and wills the trembling of her hands to stop.

Well, Jo thinks to herself, and she starts up the engine and pulls back onto the road.

She hadn't asked for a war, not at all, but there's no use crying about it now that she's _in_ one, now, is there?

Jo drives on into the night, hands steady on the wheel, as darkness eats up the road behind her.


End file.
